


Order of the Diadem

by stormae



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, And angst, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of Angst, Minor Character Death, it's got fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 13:19:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormae/pseuds/stormae
Summary: “Your Highness,” he addressed you.





	Order of the Diadem

Surrounded by pale marble pillars and chandeliers dripping with diamonds and polished, precious stone floors, you were right at home. Your hair was gathered at the nape of your neck, a delicate diadem of gold and glittering stones atop your head, a pale blue gown sucking your waist in and then cascading down around your legs to the floor in a full skirt.

In short, you had grown up in the lap of luxury, in a huge castle deep in the heart of the empire, founded from the city of Didratha. At any given moment there was a myriad of footsteps other than your own filling the air as attendants and guards followed you, reluctant to give you a moment alone.

When you were younger, you had enjoyed the things you were traditionally meant to. Reading was certainly a favourite pastime of yours, with many hours wiled away in the palace library. The library was cluttered full of books and mostly devoid of other humans, making it a perfect getaway. You had spent extended periods of time with your mother, discussing topics ranging from the political situation of the Didrathian Empire and the stability of the relations with its neighbouring states to the pretty flowers you had seen blooming in the gardens that morning, often with a needle and thread in hand. Although you could not sing you were proficient in several instruments, like most other princesses were from a feeble age.

But for every typical royal stereotype you conformed to, you subverted just as many expectations of what a young lady was meant to grow up doing.

Since you could stand on two feet—before you could walk more than a few steps without the support of another—you had followed around you older half-brother, Taeyong. The two of you had different mothers, with nobody ever guessing for a moment that the pair of you were related. His dark hair and darker eyes, along with his sculpted, angular face marked him apart from you, but your father had always fondly told you that your smiles were just like each other’s.

When you could do little more than toddle, he’d take your hand and guide you around the castle, eight year old him bestowing upon five year old you all the secrets he had gathered about the incredible home you lived in.

Even when you no longer needed to hold his hand to walk, you were constantly running around on his heels, rarely affording him the chance to give you the slip. You’d grown up not only as siblings, but as best friends joined at the hip.

There had been every opportunity for Taeyong to be resentful towards you. He had been born by the king’s only concubine, and apart from him and you, there were no other royal children. He was older by several years, and the only son at that, but due to your more pure lineage, you were the heir to the throne.

Situations like this were, realistically, not uncommon. What made the situation rare or unique was the fact that he had doted on you even more because of it. He had never spoken a harsh word or shown you anything other than an affectionate smile, taking his role as older brother to the crown princess seriously since the day your father had told him that your safety was his paramount responsibility.

Your attachment to him meant that you had spent hours watching him train with the King’s chief team of guards, the Order of the Diadem. When your arms and legs were long enough, Taeyong’s practice sessions came to encompass you, as well. It was initially just him humouring you — a way to placate you and expend some of your bountiful energy — but you managed to surprise both him and yourself with your dexterity and aim.

Your mother was less than pleased when she noticed the growing calluses on your palms, but both she and your father came to appreciate the fact a little bit of self-defence could serve a princess some good.

Over the years your hands shed the rough skin and you grew from a toddling child who refused to wear shoes for more than fifteen minutes at a time to a bonafide royal. Your posture was without fault, your words were always perfectly chosen, you never had a lash out of place. You never had to worry, either, with Taeyong perennially by your side.

A brief moment of quiet gave you the chance to loosen the taught, rigid line of your back as you leant against the sill of one of the huge windows that looked out over the palace gardens. You preferred this aspect to that of the other side of the palace. The kingdom was not such a beautiful place anymore, not like it was when you were growing up.

The sound of heavy wooden doors swinging open and a new pair of brisk footsteps snapped you back to the moment at hand, your back straightening and your eyes widening to appear more alert.

You watched with your automatic polite smile as the Chief of Staff—a shorter, greying man—strode towards you.

“Your Highness,” the woman addressed you, her face pinched at the brows and corners of her mouth, “I—”

For the second time in as many minutes, the cacophonous sound of the doors at the end of the hallways opening interrupted the train of thought of everyone in the room.

The young man that strode in commanded attention. Smokey black hair sat in disarray on his head, strong brows and angular features likening him to one of the busts of perfection that sat on pedestals throughout the castle.

His leanly muscular body was clothed for a royal guard on duty—a short-sleeved shirt that climbed the neck and covered most of the torso, made of thick red material to display the family colours. A chainmail collar also covered his neck and shoulders, with a vambrace on each forearm, pale grey pants and worn, brown leather boots climbing to his knees. What set the this man in particular apart from the rest of the Order of the Diadem were the broadsword attached to his hip and the impractical but customary short cape made of crushed red velvet that cascaded from his shoulders, signifying his role as Chief of the Guard. He held his helmet under one arm, the visor clanking shut as he came to a halt in front of you.

“Do not concern the princess,” he spoke to the Chief of Staff but remained looking at you, “I will debrief her.”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied, curtsying to both of you before retreating from the hall.

You turned to the weary, familiar face and let the silence pervade for a moment, before you released a deep breath and slumped against the window sill once more.

“You look tired, Tae,” you told him gently. He always looked tired, these days.

He sighed and lifted a hand to rub against his eyes, muscles bulging underneath scared skin that the uniform exposed in battle. He joined you on the window ledge, the sun from outside casting harsh shadows on his already gracile countenance, making him seem more gaunt than he truly was.

“The people aren’t happy, Y/N,” he admitted as if the words were physically painful to confess. “They know father isn’t well, they know that the castle and the family aren’t as solid as we usually are, that we’re distracted.”

There was dirt under his fingernails and fresh scratches and bruises on his arms that he seemed to have attempted to clean and cover before coming to talk to you.

You lifted a finger to a particularly large bruise, already turning an angry purple colour. “Where did you get these?”

He didn’t speak for a moment, eyes the colour of pitch staring at you wordlessly, before he opened his mouth to reply.

“There are rebel groups forming and banding together,” his words were quiet, his eyes darting from your intent face to the faces of the staff lingering around you. His distrust set you on edge.

“They’re allying themselves with one another to consolidate numbers,” he explained, dragging another hand through his hair, “they want change, they want stability, they want a ruler they can trust and they’re saying that’s not this family. And the more they talk and the louder they get, the more people are starting to believe them.”

Your pursed your lips, your brows drawing together as you tried to process everything he was telling you. If you were being honest, it was not entirely a surprise. Periods of unrest were common when a ruler became older or fell ill, and a tradition of rule was the most volatile time for any established kingdom.

It was also no secret that as you father had gathered years, he had become less and less concerned with the people under his command and in being a progressive and innovative leader, letting the kingdom fall into a rut of old habits and outdated rules. It probably was time for a new ruler.

Taeyong had been watching you closely as the information he’d given you zinged to and fro in your head. He probably wasn’t expecting you to grasp his hand and haul him to his feet, dragging him down the hallway towards the room you knew your father would be in.

The guards stationed outside the magnificently imposing, dark wood doors didn’t have the time to consider whether they should stop you from entering, shooting perplexed looks at an equally baffled Taeyong as you barged into your father’s bed chambers.

He was in the same position he had been last time you had visited him—laid up in bed amongst the plush blankets and pillows, dwarfed by the room around him. Even the four poster bed loomed tall and immovable as it reached towards the ceiling, which was decorated with superfluous amounts of gilded detailing. You father looked small and sickly, as if he were being consumed by the very bed that was meant to support him.

“Father,” you called, but it was a redundant action. With the entrance you had made, he and every member of staff were giving you their undivided attention.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged you, a bemused expression on his face as he waited for you to speak.

“I wish to relinquish my place as crown princess, first in line to the throne,” you told him, holding your chin high and keeping you back rigidly straight in an effort to show how resolute you were in your decision.

There was a moment of silence. Your father blinked once before levelling his eyes with you, “No. You are my only legitimate child, there is no one to take your place.”

The hand still firmly gripping Taeyong’s wrist flapped to emphasise your brother’s presence, “Yes, there is! Taeyong is no secret to the nation, he’s capable and well liked. He knows what the people want, would know how to run the empire much better than I ever could.”

“Y/N,” Taeyong tried to grab your attention, but you disregarded his attempt.

“I wouldn’t resent him for it, this is my will, I’ll even put it in writing if need be,” you continued.

“Y/N,” Taeyong tried again, this time with a firmer tone, paired with a harsh yank that freed his wrist from the confines of your fingers. It took you a moment to realise he was visibly annoyed, and before you could get a good look at the irritation lacing his features, he purposefully softened his expression before speaking again.

“I appreciate everything that you’re saying,” he reassured you, passing glances between you and your father, who was playing more passive a role than you would have expected, “but I don’t want the throne. It’s been yours since you were born, I wouldn’t feel right taking on that role. I’m also not prepared to be a diplomat. I’m a guard, a soldier, not a king.”

“We could establish a co-regency, then? And we have countless people that could bring you up to speed,” you persisted.

“Not quick enough,” he countered, sharing a conspicuously meaningful look with your father.

“What does that mean?” You questioned quickly, already having an inkling that you prayed would be discredited.

Your father’s gruff voice spoke once more. It was a voice that had intimidated you and commended authority when you were younger, but now it seemed to thin and wain with every passing day.

“I’ve decided to move up your coronation. I see no reason to wait for me to die before you take the throne, when they are an inevitable sequence of events.”

“To when?” You tried not to splutter the words but did little to hide your distaste.

“Before the turn of the season.”

“That’s far too soon, father,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking at the thought of ruling. Technically, you had been prepared for this reality your entire life, but that did not mean you felt ready. You were too young, had been too sheltered.

“I can’t possibly rule on my own,” you reiterated, the daunting prospect causing your heart to thrum in your chest, “that’s why I think a co-regency would—”

“You would not be on your own,” your father cut you off, “I will still be alive to guide you through the first, unbalanced stage of your rule. And,” he paused, swallowing and clearing his throat, “I was not going to bring this up without your mother present, but my excursion to Riosedell last month was not purely to re-negotiate trade agreements. I have arranged your marriage.”

You heard a sharp intake of breath beside you. Although Taeyong had joined your father on the trip, he seemed genuinely surprise.

“Father, why didn’t I know anything about this? She’s already too young to take the throne, but you convinced me of that, but to marry?”

Your father turned a disapproving look towards Taeyong, immediately silencing any further protests. “Riosedell need stability and support as much as we do right now. It’s mutually beneficial, and will simultaneously strengthen and expand the kingdoms.”

Both you and Taeyong fell silent, because you both knew your father was right.

The king of Riosedell, an acquaintance of your father for many years, was assassinated during your father’s recent visit. It had been an inside job, but details other than that were not known. All that was certain was the entirety of Riosedell had descended into frantic chaos and the king’s son, Sicheng, had been put on the throne.

Your father’s news of an arranged marriage between you and Sicheng did not come as a surprise. You were the same age as him, and had grown up seeing him once or twice a year at different events and balls. You had not seen him in years, but you had always known how, ever since you were small, his parents had planned with yours to arrange your marriage and unite the two kingdoms. You just didn’t know it would happen so soon.

You felt a hand on your elbow, and turned to find Taeyong’s dark, round eyes watching you imploringly. “I didn’t know,” he reiterated, “I promise, I didn’t know.”

The fight you’d felt upon entering the bed chambers was long gone from your body. “It’s fine,” you told him, rolling your shoulders back once more in the hopes of injecting some energy back into your body.

“It’s not,” he said, steering you out of the room without so much as a polite glance in your father’s direction, “but it’ll be ok. You know I’m here for you, right?”

As the pair of your crossed the threshold of your father’s quarters and began to wander aimlessly through the winding maze of passages that made up the palace, you turned to look at Taeyong with focus. He may be taller and stronger and more mature, but he still scrunched his brows and worried his bottom lip the way he did when he was still just a big personality in a little body, dragging you around whether he liked it or not. You knew he meant what he said.

“Yeah,” you smiled gently, already feeling the weight that had suddenly settled on your chest lifting slightly, “I know.”

—

The sun was sinking outside the castle, the dimming light vanishing on the shiny marble floors of the throne room. The atmosphere was tense, every person in the room standing stock-still.

The only people there were the twelve guards in the Order of the Diadem, Taeyong in his full customary regalia, and you, sat upon the throne your father usually occupied, dress so tight around your waist that you were incapable of anything other than perfect posture and the usually delicate, undetectable crown balanced on your head felt as though it were made entirely of lead.

Your mother and father had left you essentially on your own. Sicheng’s mother was also not in attendance. You thought it strange, but apparently they were signifying their trust in you and Sicheng, and your combined ability to conduct yourself appropriately.

The doors to the throne room were swung open by the guards, and in proceeded a surprisingly small party. Flanked by only five or six guards was the new king of Riosedell.

The young man that strode towards you was far taller than the last time you’d seen him, with more refined, delicate, pixie-like features and longer, dark hair. He was wearing the dark blue hues of his kingdom in the form of a velvet cloak over a surprisingly casual white shirt, and his knee high boots were scuffed and well worn, but the gleaming golden crown nestled atop his head left no room for doubt—he was the king.

You stood, being careful not to rush your movements, and descended the few stairs that elevated the throne from the floor. You knew you were meant to curtsey to him first, as he now outranked you, but he was only a couple of months older than you, and the glimmer in his eyes as you walked closer alluded to the fact he was still the vibrant young boy you’d last seen several years ago.

“Your Majesty,” you managed to finally say, taking up the sides of your gown in a deep curtsey, lowering your head politely.

With your head still down, you heard muffled giggling from the man in front of you. Your head snapped up, a mixture of shock and inquisition on your face as you took in Sicheng’s giggling form.

You straightened up and raised an eyebrow at him, “Your Majesty?”

That was apparently all Sicheng could take before bursting into an entirely inappropriate fit of laughter. The guard to his right, wearing the same casual outfit as the young king but with the addition of a brooch to pin his cloak, signifying he was head guard, gave Sicheng a disapproving look.

“Sorry,” Sicheng finally spoke, his voice clearer and deeper than you last remembered, “but hearing you of all people call me that is so weird.”

You were at a loss for words, as were almost every other person in the room. The Riosedell head guard narrowed his eyes at his king, giving him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sicheng tried to amend the gaff he’d managed to immediately make, taking your hand in his and bowing to press his lips gently to your skin, “Your Highness.”

It was most likely a mixture of the unbelievable build of tension and Sicheng’s hand, still quivering from trying to suppress his laughter, that had you breaking out into a fit of giggles as well. Upon hearing your tittering, Sicheng rejoined you, straightening up and giving you a friendly hug.

The pair of you had always gotten along well, but you struggled to think of anyone who wouldn’t get along with Sicheng. He was handsome and emanated regality in every movement he made, but his eyes had none of the stony flatness that so many royals seemed burdened with. He was always smiling and you were yet to see him be unkind to anyone. He was the sort of person that, if someone disliked him, it was more indicative of a fault in them than in Sicheng.

Or at least that was the mindset you held before you saw the way both Sicheng and Taeyong immediately stiffened as they greeted one another. Due to his semi-royal blood, Taeyong had not had as many opportunities to mingle amongst royalty as you had, but he was acquainted with Sicheng, nonetheless, and so it was only polite for them to greet each other. However, the stiffness with which they both stood as they bowed to one another was glaringly obvious, and the cool looks with which they regarded one another sucked the jovial atmosphere from the room. It was as if they were eyeing each other off, as though they were enemies deciding the best way to take the other down. The hostility was unnerving.

You couldn’t recall a time when they’d been in each other’s company long enough to grow feelings of dislike towards one another, and beyond that you couldn’t surmise what they would hate so much about each other. Had Sicheng not grown up on the other side of the border, you suspected you would have been as close with him as you were with Taeyong.

Perhaps that was what had provoked your parents to attempt to set the pair of you up. Unfortunately, you harboured purely platonic feelings for the elegant king, but you supposed many princesses had it worse. The arrangement could have been between you and a tyrant twice your age, so you considered yourself supremely lucky. You didn’t have anyone you were particularly fond of, either, so you weren’t too put out.

You averted your eyes from where Sicheng and Taeyong were making stiff, polite small talk, to where the rest of the Riosedell guard were still assembled, keeping a vigilant eye on their king.

You moved towards them, the bejewelled, crimson red skirt of your gown brushing against the floor and making any of your movements obvious. Their eyes flickered from Sicheng to you, regarding you with respectful reproach.

The head guard, a slightly built man that couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than you, wore an unmarked expression as you approached, not saying a word as you came to a halt in front of him. His dark eyes sat above a straight nose, high cheekbones running parallel to a strong, straight jawline. He was attractive, no doubt, and you suspected he’d be even nicer to look at were he to crack a smile.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, dropping the honorific of ‘princess’, knowing your crown sufficed in expressing that title.

The young man watched as you bobbed in a small curtsey, before taking your hand and pressing his pink lips to the skin behind your knuckles. His hair was long and dark, dusting the top of his eyes when he stood upright once more. He automatically swept it away from his path of vision, a motion that would have been endearing had he not maintained a stony expression and apathetic gaze.

“Your Highness,” he addressed you with none of the easy-going geniality Sicheng radiated as he walked into the room.

You waited a moment for him to offer his name, but he remained firm and uninviting in his silence. Sicheng seemed to take note, though, and glided over to where you were stood.

“This is my head guard, Ten,” Sicheng explained, “he takes his job very seriously.”

“That’s admirable,” you said in an attempt to flatter him somewhat, knowing from your diplomacy training that compliments are the fastest way to wear down walls as thick and high as Ten’s. He did nothing but blink at you.

You were beginning to feel irked by his demeanour, trying you best to absorb the hostility that was being fired your way instead of reflecting it back at the original culprit and adding to the building tension.

“Ten is an interesting name,” you probed the dying conversation once more, “it’s a nickname, I assume?”

“Yes,” Sicheng answered for the quiet guard almost immediately, swinging an arm around the slightly shorter young man and tugging him into his side, “there are rumours it’s a measure of how dangerous he is, or how many men he killed in his first day of service, but it’s really a nickname I gave him when I first met him.” Sicheng retracted his arm and moved the hair away from Ten’s ears, which were reddening at a progressively rapid rate. He was fuming, anyone could tell, but the look in his eyes when he shot Sicheng a look was mixed with automatic reverence and respect that couldn’t be faked.

“It’s really just how many piercings he has,” Sicheng pointed out, tugging on the studs and hanging earrings in the guard’s ears.

“Sicheng,” Ten grit out in a low voice, before quickly correcting himself, “Your Majesty, we should get you to your room and survey your quarters.”

“Probably,” Sicheng acquiesced, letting the other guards flank him once more as Taeyong escorted them, stiffly and silently, from the throne room.

As they vanished from sight, you released a deep breath, taking a few steps back and sinking down to sit on the steps at the foot of the throne. The royal seat loomed over you, intimidating and symbolic.

It had felt so foreign to be sitting there. You couldn’t imagine anyone but your father reclined against the chair back, with one hand tracing the carvings on the arm, the other supporting his chin as he gazed fondly at little Taeyong and you romping around the expansive throne room.

But time does not pause because you wish it would, and you no longer fit into those tulle dresses, and you now know your childhood dream of breeding butterflies was never to be, and you had to repay the people of the kingdom for all the years you spent, growing up in such bliss. They deserved to be done right by, and if Taeyong would not take up the job, you would do your best.

—

Sicheng was intended to stay for several weeks, so familiarise himself with the castle and the kingdom, itself, as well as to reacquaint himself with you. It was still undecided whether the seat of power for the conjoined kingdoms would be Didratha or Riosedell, but that, among almost every other aspect of the arranged marriage, was an issue for a later date.

Taeyong was away from the castle for several hours almost every morning, leaving whilst the moon still had several hours before the sun hefted itself above the horizon and returning to wake you up for the day.

On this morning, however, the sound of a dog coming past your bedroom window woke you first, and you were too awake for the gentle hands of sleep to pull you back under. So you got yourself up and decided to wander the halls of the palace before Taeyong returned for breakfast.

The castle was undeniably beautiful, all pale marble and high windows to let in as much light as the architects could manage. The more ornate pane glass windows filtered the light in a myriad of different colourful hues, creating a rainbow on the floor tiles that you had adored as a child.

As you rounded a corner, you saw another figure leaning against a windowsill, looking out on the gardens.

“Morning,” you called to avoid giving him an unwelcome surprise during the most serene part of the day.

Sicheng turned at the sound of your voice and flashed you a smile, “Morning, Y/N.”

You stopped at the window sill beside him resting your hands on the sandstone and leaning forwards to take in the sight. The sun was just scrambling into the sky, washing the intricate, manicured palace gardens in a warm orangey red. You and Sicheng stood side by side for several minutes, not interrupting the silence, letting your breathing fall into rhythm with one another, shoulders brushing every now and then.

It reminded you so sharply of the times you’d spent playing with him in the gardens when you were still only waist high, when neither of you really understood what being ‘crown prince’ or ‘crown princess’ meant for your futures and the futures of those around you.

The feeling of familiarity had emotion welling in your chest, and all you wanted to do was turn to him and hug him and have him tell you that he was just as freaked out by everything that was going on as you were. Taeyong would normally be the first person you went to when you felt like that, but he’d already made it clear that he wanted you to rule as soon as possible, and you didn’t want him to think you couldn’t handle it. You were strong, you could, but that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted to.

Just when the tears were building to the point you wouldn’t be able to silence them much longer, Sicheng’s voice spoke up.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, excitement lacing his voice, “we have matching necklaces.”

It took you a moment to comprehend what he’d said, but once your brain kicked into action you noticed he was right. Hanging from his neck was a pendant displaying a griffin and a lion, with an unknown royal crest stamped in the centre. The only difference to between them was the thickness of the chain they hung from.

‘They’re identical,” you confirmed, reaching up thoughtlessly to hold the pendant and get a better look.

As you did so, you failed to hear the sound of rapid footsteps, only aware of another presence when you felt the impact of another body colliding with yours, pushing you to the floor with two hands firmly fastened around your throat.

When your head stopped spinning after connecting with the floor, you found the attractive features of Ten contorted into a livid mask.

Your hands flew up to where his encircled your throat, constricting slowly as he yelled at you. You couldn’t discern the exact words over the sound of blood rushing to your ears and the playback of your head hitting the floor with a resounding crack, but from the fury on his countenance you knew they were anything but complimentary. From what you could make out, he was telling Sicheng that you had been manipulating him, that you weren’t going for the necklace, but going for his jugular.

You could feel your nails scratching at the skin of his hands, but your attempts at clawing and flailing your legs had little effect on the situation.

“Stand down!” You could hear Sicheng bellowing with more authority and urgency than you had ever seen him summon before, but his repeated efforts were ignored by his main guard. You saw him attempt to pull Ten off, but couldn’t get enough leverage on his arms to really make a difference. Sicheng may be taller, but Ten was certainly more muscular than the king.

But with the same speed the situation had escalated with, Ten’s weight was suddenly no longer on you. You sat up quickly, chest rising and falling rapidly in an attempt to replenish your oxygen supply, and from your seat on the floor you could see Taeyong holding Ten in a headlock, threatening to break his neck right then and there. The dagger in Taeyong’s left hand was dangerously close to Ten’s eye, already having left a cut along his cheekbone.

“Stop—” you croaked, your voice still feeling the effects of Ten’s fingers digging into your throat. You took a deep breath and steadied yourself, “Stop it! Taeyong, stand down!”

He shot you a dubious look, “Are you kidding? This man assaulted you, he’s to be executed anyway.”

“Stand down,” you repeated, looking at him with an expression that confirmed there was no room for arguing.

Taeyong released Ten, the two quickly putting space between each other. You moved towards Taeyong as Ten returned to Sicheng’s side, both men breathing heavily as they tried to calm the surges of anger that was pounding through their bodies. They exchanged a glower, a steady stream of blood escaping from the gash on the side of Ten’s face to punctuate the strained situation.

It was times like these that you had no idea how to conduct yourself. This was a potential collapse in international relations, and here you were, floundering for what to do and say. The weight of the situation passed on your shoulders and the ghosts of Ten’s hands were still clinging to your neck, and all you wanted to do was go back to bed and wake up in a few days time, but you knew you couldn’t.

Sicheng was watching you for a cue, expression fervently serious. How you went forward from there was your choice.

You took a deep breath, eyes flickering back to when Ten’s skin was marred with sliced flesh and scarlet blood, and were surprised you didn’t feel any fear or resentment. He had been doing his job, it had just been at your expense.

“I’ll alert the kitchen staff that breakfast will be a bit later today. Go and get Ten cleaned up.”

There was an audible moment of silence. Sicheng and Ten were both visibly surprised, and you immediately felt Taeyong latch a strangulating hold on your wrist in anger, trying to get your attention. You ignored him, though, simply nodding at Sicheng in an informal form of dismissal, a subtle I’ll deal with it, don’t worry.

Sicheng left with Ten, the pair walking quickly down the corridor towards their quarters before disappearing from sight. As they did so, you turned to Taeyong, who seemed ready to combust with anger.

“He deserves execution,” he maintained.

“He was doing his job,” you rebutted, “you’d do the same for me if you thought I was under threat.”

You both knew you were right, but Taeyong still seemed exceptionally disgruntled, more so than you would usually expect from him. He was generally level headed and rational, rarely letting emotion cloud his judgement as it was doing now. There was something else going on.

“What?” You pressed, “Why are you so reluctant to let this go. You and I both know it’s much easier to see it the situation for what it was. Why should I blow everything out of proportion?”

Taeyong levelled you with a look you had never received from him before, a look that seemed to scream you’re so naive, before turning and walking in the direction of the kitchen.

“I’ll go and let the cooks know about the change in plan,” he told you, voice flat.

“Taeyong,” you went to follow him, trying to grab at his wrist to stop him in his tracks, but he shook you off, “what aren’t you telling me?”

He didn’t respond, and you stopped trying to follow him. He left you standing in the corridor, ruffled and still reeling from what had just happened, the only sound being the click of his boots fading as he got further and further away.


End file.
